


Happy Endings

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Discovery, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started, as these things always seemed to do, with Enjolras.</p><p>Les Amis are reincarnated, but one of them seems to be missing. Grantaire has a theory for why that may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jjazzandothersuchnonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jjazzandothersuchnonsense/gifts).



> The prompt was for sad/happy reincarnation, and I have tried my absolute best to get that across. Being not naturally inclined towards gen, I have tried my best in this regard as well.

It started, as these things always seemed to do, with Enjolras.

His name was not Enjolras, but the name his parents had given him mattered little as soon as he remembered, and he remembered early, rolling over one night when he was fourteen and just _knowing_ , knowing everything about his...well, his former life, he supposed.

In the following weeks, he read every single book on reincarnation that he could get his hands on, searching desperately for clues as to how he suddenly remembered every detail of Paris in 1832. The books were predominantly unhelpful, but they all suggested that he might not be alone in remembering.

Which was why he was not entirely surprised when he ran into someone he knew at the coffeeshop the next week.

He had expected it to be Combeferre, figuring that the person he had the closest connection with was liable to be the first person that he found. Instead, he found Grantaire nursing a hangover and a double espresso, and the moment Grantaire’s eyes met his, they widened in recognition and he spilled his coffee all over himself as he gasped, “Enjolras?”

Two hours later, and they still hadn’t begun to cover everything there was to discuss. Enjolras had learned that Grantaire was a student at the local college, that all things considered, not much had changed for him. Enjolras told him in a firm voice, “We have to find everyone else.”

Grantaire looked at him appraisingly. “For once, you’re actually the age you look,” he said calmly, taking a sip of his fresh coffee. “Finish school, and then I’ll go wherever you want.”

By seventeen, Enjolras had gotten kicked out of his third high school and legally emancipated from his parents, Grantaire had graduated with the arts degree he had half-assed, and Courfeyrac had found them, transferring into Enjolras’s second high school during his sophomore year. Like Grantaire, he pledged instantly to follow Enjolras where he led, as much spurred by their memory of Enjolras in all his revolutionary glory as the image of Enjolras as he was now, hotblooded and fiery as ever, but with a possibility of success that they had never dreamed.

The world had changed since 1832, sure, but more work was always necessary, and Enjolras was as convinced as ever that they would solve the world’s problems, and Courfeyrac was as convinced as ever to help him, and Grantaire...well, Grantaire was as convinced as ever that this was a losing battle, but there was at least bound to be good drinking along the way (so he told Enjolras, anyway, but Courfeyrac asked him in a low voice why he was coming with them again, and Grantaire just shrugged, gave him a crooked smile, and said helplessly, “You know why. 181 years later, and my answer hasn’t changed.”).

But Enjolras was also convinced that they needed Les Amis de l’ABC back together in order to be the most effective they could be. And while Grantaire pointed out that they didn’t know where to find the rest of the group, Enjolras pointed out that he had found Grantaire and Courfeyrac easily enough, and that wherever they went, surely they would find them.

Which was how the three of them moved into the city and found Bahorel the first day they were there and Prouvaire the second. On their fifth day in the city, bumming around in Bahorel’s apartment for the most part, Enjolras went to the library, and there, finally, he found Combeferre.

Their eyes met much as Enjolras and Grantaire’s had, and just like Grantaire, Combeferre had gasped, “Enjolras?”

Enjolras nodded, smiled, and said simply, “Come with me.”

When they were back at Bahorel’s, there were hugs and laughter all around as Combeferre was reintroduced to his old friends. Enjolras told story of how he had told Combeferre to come with him, and he just had, no questions asked. "This is some Jesus calling the disciples-level bullshit right now," Grantaire snorted, taking a swig from his beer bottle.

Bahorel laughed. "At least we know which disciple you would be," he told Grantaire with a wicked grin.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? Because I don't recall there being a disciple that showed up fifteen minutes late to the crucifixion with a Starbucks."

That elicited another snort of laughter from Bahorel and an eyeroll from Combeferre (though it also looked like Combeferre was hiding a grin). Enjolras just frowned at him. “You were the first one I found,” he pointed out. “So you couldn’t possibly have been late.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Grantaire sighed, and Prouvaire just patted Enjolras on the back when he looked confused.

Together, they numbered six, which meant three of their number were still missing, and even as they sat in Bahorel’s shithole of an apartment, laughing and joking and drinking like old times, the absence of those three was felt keenly by all.

It was Grantaire that found Bossuet in a seedy dive of a bar after he had accidentally spilled an entire pitcher of beer on the poor man who in this life sadly had as little hair as in his past. Still, Bossuet was as good-natured as ever, and once explanations and hugs were out of the way, even bought Grantaire a new pitcher of beer to replace the one spilled. And with Bossuet with them it was only a matter of time before Joly was found, too, in a department store dressing room by Bahorel when he was trying on pants.

A long-winded explanation of how that occurred followed, but it didn’t matter. They were only one away from being complete, and it took little enough time before Feuilly, who was working as a taxicab driver, pulled up in front of Bahorel’s apartment building to pick up a passenger. That passenger ended up having to call another cab because of the mass people that suddenly surrounded Feuilly’s cab, hugging him and all trying to talk over each other as Feuilly smiled and laughed, finally finding the only family that he had ever really known.

With the nine Amis back together, it seemed time to return to what they did best: fighting the injustices of the world, of which there many, more even than Enjolras could have imagined, and dedicating their lives to the freedom of the oppressed.

But as they sat down to make their plans, it still felt as if there was a piece missing, and Combeferre frowned around the table, counting heads and sorting through his memories until he voice the question they were all thinking: “Who are we missing?”

Quiet murmurs broke out as others asked the same question. Certainly there had been other students in their group, other friends, but none like the nine that sat here. Enjolras frowned, his expression stony, and after a long moment, he said, “Marius.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances, and were about to say something, but it was Grantaire who spoke up, barely containing his laughter. “I hate to be the one to remind you, but you and Marius were hardly good enough friends to need him here for your little mission to be incomplete without him.”

“Besides,” Bahorel added, taking a swig of his beer, “assuming his political beliefs were updated to this century, Pontmercy’s probably some right-winger that you would absolutely _loathe_.”

Only Enjolras’s glare was enough to silence the appreciative laughter that broke out at Bahorel’s statement. “Need I remind you who saved the barricade?” Enjolras asked, his tone mild, and at that, everyone fell silent. “Marius and I had our differences, to be sure, but in the end, he was as brave as anyone. And we may need that courage again.”

Silence met his statement, and Enjolras stood, his shoulders squared and his tone decisive as he told them, “We wait until we find Marius. Then we will move forward.”

The group dispersed, and Enjolras sat back down, looking through his news alerts on his cellphone. Grantaire bit his lip, debating over whether or not to say anything, and slid over to sit next to Enjolras, clearing his throat to get his attention. “What if Marius won’t come?” Grantaire asked, his voice quiet.

Enjolras snorted and didn’t look up from his phone. “Must your cynicism infect everything? Marius will show up. Eventually. We just have to keep looking. My money’s on Courfeyrac to find him, or, hell, him to find Courfeyrac again.”

Grantaire shook his head, his expression earnest. “No, listen, Enjolras, this isn’t cynicism.” Enjolras frowned but glanced up at him, his eyes steely. “Look, no one saw Marius die on the barricade, right? Well, what if he didn’t die at all? What if he lived and he found his Cosette and he--”

“And what, he lived happily ever after?” Enjolras scoffed.

It was Grantaire’s turn to frown at him. “Now who’s the cynic?” Enjolras flushed slightly and looked away, and Grantaire sighed. “Seriously, though. Maybe Marius got his happy ending, and that’s why we can’t find him. Because he’s not here. Because he has no need to be.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire for a long moment, cycling through several emotions before settling on his seeming default: anger. “Why can’t you keep your stupid ideas to yourself?” Enjolras snapped, and Grantaire recoiled at the sudden vitriol in his tone. “You always have to be the naysayer, don’t you? Always the one to shoot down our plans, always the one to think you’ve found something to go wrong. Can’t you just believe in something for once in your life?”

With that said, he stood and stormed away, leaving Grantaire staring open-mouthed after him. Combeferre cleared his throat gently and sat down on Grantaire’s other side. “Hey,” he said, softly.

Grantaire blinked and looked down at the table, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Hey.”

“Ignore Enjolras,” Combeferre told him. “He’s pissy right now, but he’ll come around. Especially since, honestly, I think you’re right.”

Grantaire just snorted and shook his head, still avoiding Combeferre’s gaze. “Why would you think I’m right?” he asked bitterly. “You heard Enjolras -- I’m nothing but the naysayer, the one to always shoot things down. Shouldn’t you be agreeing with our dear leader, as part of the triumvirate?”

Combeferre was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “Enjolras is right about a lot of things,” he said finally. “But that doesn’t make him infallible. He is, after all, despite what you may think, only human. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I always have to agree with him.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And I’ve never agreed with him about you.”

For a moment, Grantaire looked up at him, startled, then he colored and looked away. “Sure, because you think I have worth and he doesn’t,” he scoffed.

“No,” Combeferre said patiently, “because he thinks the best way to get you to live up to your potential is by engaging with every little argument you throw out there. Whereas I think the only thing you’re looking for is acknowledgement.”

Grantaire glanced back up at him, something dark in his expression. “Acknowledgment of what?”

Combeferre just shrugged blithely at him. “Only you know that.” He stood and clapped Grantaire on the shoulder. “Just give him time. He’ll come around eventually.” And he walked away, leaving a very confused and contemplative Grantaire in his wake.

* * *

 

As the next few weeks passed, it seemed that Grantaire’s theory was going to be proved correct. Not a single Ami was able to find Marius, no matter where they looked. One night, when most of the Amis were sitting around the table (the notable absence being Grantaire, who had snagged a bottle of whiskey and was sitting out on Bahorel’s fire escape), Combeferre asked Courfeyrac for the twelfth time, “And no one’s shown up asking to sleep with you?”

“Oh, many people have asked to sleep with me,” Courfeyrac said with a large wink, though his face fell soon after. “But none of them were Pontmercy. I think it’s time we gave up on that and moved on.”

Enjolras shook his head. “We can’t just do that--” he said impatiently, but Prouvaire cut him off.

“Look, last time Marius didn’t join us until we had already started working towards a cause, right? If he is here somewhere -- and I’m not saying whether I agree with Grantaire on that matter or not, because I value my life -- maybe we need to get the ball rolling without him.” Prouvaire glanced around the table, and most of the Amis nodded in agreement. “Either he joins us, or he doesn’t, but we can’t put things on hold indefinitely for him. Not when we have so much to do.”

Murmurs of agreement met this statement, and Combeferre nodded. “I agree with Jehan. We have things to do that can be done with or without Marius. If or when we find him, we’ll reevaluate, but for now…”

With most everyone in agreement, the discussion turned quickly to their plans, but Enjolras sat back in his seat, scowling. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him and said in an undertone, “I believe you owe Grantaire an apology.”

“For what?” Enjolras snapped, though he kept his voice quiet enough that most could not hear him. “His half-assed theory hasn’t been proven correct by this.”

Combeferre sighed and gave Enjolras a look. “Maybe not, but he still didn’t deserve to have you go off on him the way that you did. Especially since you now look more on the incorrect side of this than he does.”

Enjolras glanced at the window leading to the fire escape and then back at Combeferre, who met his gaze squarely. “Oh, fine,” he sighed, pushing away from the table and heading to the window, looking out at Grantaire, who was sitting on the fire escape, his legs dangling over the edge, bottle clenched in one hand as he faced away from Enjolras.

Opening the window carefully, Enjolras tried to find a good way to say what he wanted to. Instead, he went with a more typical approach. “There’s just one problem with your happy ending theory,” he said abruptly, startling Grantaire from his reverie, causing him to almost drop the bottle in his hand.

Grantaire practically craned his neck turning to look up at Enjolras. “Oh really? And what’s that?”

Settling down next to him, Enjolras told him, “The implication from your theory is that you don't think the rest of us got happy endings.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I suppose not.” He looked down, blushing slightly, before saying softly, “I thought you might have gotten yours.”

Snorting, Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t believe in happy endings.”

“You don’t believe in anything,” Enjolras countered, and they broke into almost identical grins, recognizing the old argument.

“I believe in you,” Grantaire said, just as he had then, and his smile was soft, almost gentle as he added, “Always have, always will.”

Enjolras just shook his head, the faint blush still in his cheeks. “But you believe Marius got his happy ending,” he pointed out. “So clearly you do believe in the possibility of happy endings.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I believe that Pontmercy got what he would call his version of a happy ending. I can’t say as it would have been a happy ending for everyone involved. But the moral of the story is, his tale is done. His life was lived. There was no regret on his end, nothing more he could have done. I don’t think the same can be said for most of us.” He nudged the back of Enjolras’s hand with his own before saying quietly, “Besides, I prefer to think of this as more of a happy beginning. A chance to do what we weren’t able to do last time.”

Nodding slowly, Enjolras repeated, “A happy beginning.” He looked back inside, gaze resting on each of their friends before turning back to Grantaire. “For all of us. I like that."

Grantaire nudged his hand again and smiled at him. “So do I.”


End file.
